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Interviews
Ludacris is sleeping. Dead asleep. Asleep so deep his chin is digging a hole in his chest and the obsessive ringing of his cell phone is going unheeded. Maybe it's some Zen-like state of preparation or tantric centering process, but considering he's about to fling himself out of a creaky-ass plane at 13,000 feet in less than an hour, the man is remarkably calm.
Ludacris, as he puts it, "is ludicrous." You see him on a video show near you and he's bigger than life - eyes bugged out, hair in ever-changing styles, spitting rhymes with preternatural force and energy. Not since Busta Rhymes has hip-hop seen such a kinetic personality, and perhaps never has there been a rapper with Ludacris' combination of charm, enthusiasm and complex lyricism.
But with his second major label album, Word of Mouf, recently completed, Ludacris has thrown caution to the wind. Upon arriving at the skydive center, he's confronted with what appears to be a ramshackle operation. The "office" is in a rundown Winnebago and the staging area, where soon-to-be-thrillseekers watch a nominal training video and sign a hefty sheaf of papers absolving the skydive folks of all responsibility and acknowledging the possibility of your own very sudden, very ugly death, is in a boat-like gray bus resting on cinderblocks.
Accompanying Ludacris on this twisted adventure is his manager, Chaka Zulu, his Def Jam publicist, a BET executive and yours truly. Having done this once before, Ludacris and Chaka blindly scribble their way through the stack of contracts, eager to strap in and let fly. "It was for my birthday," Chaka remembers, "We did it over the North Shore of Hawaii, 11,000 feet. It was for my birthday and I wanted to go. I made them all go with me."
"It was crazy," echoes Ludacris, "It was the biggest thing I ever did. Man, it was beautiful."
Moments later, having endured the predictably exuberant video and a glaringly brief run-through of the jump process, in which we simulate the motions we'll have to go through in order to hit the ground safely, our whole crew is suited up and told to prepare for the jump. These are tandem jumps - each of us will be strapped to a professional who's there to back us up should our mental facilities lapse - but the responsibilities are supposedly on us - the initial leap, checking the altimeter, pulling the ripcord, landing.
Soon, the baby plane meant to ferry us up to 13,000 feet rumbles down the runway and, like lemmings inexorably facing their destiny, we all climb in, pumping fists, flashing grins and throwing bows. Us amateurs are seated towards the rear. Squeezed in front are the pros - folks who drive up to the skydiving ranch in their spare time and wait for a flight they can jump on, and jump off. As we all assume our positions and are strapped into our human-parachutes, the plane bounces down the runway and then, just as second thoughts begin to pop up, we're airborne. Ludacris and Chaka are clearly animated, waiting for their moment in the clouds. As the plane ascends, we all grow quiet. Not prayer quiet, but excited quiet, everyone waiting for their rush.
After a couple of minutes, the plane achieves cruising altitude, and the plastic sliding door that separates us from oblivion is flung open. Without a second's hesitation, the pros up front jump out head first, giving everyone in the plane a good shock. But only as we waddle our way to the front for our own plunge does the situation's gravity become plain. The wind is whipping fiercely, so strong that your cheeks flap wildly like you didn't know they could. Ludacris steps up to the ledge and, with a nod to fate, goes out head first, quickly disappearing into the clear blue sky below. I'm next, emboldened by seeing a platinum artist being so cavalier.
Flight is indeed all it's cracked up to be. Because you're just dropping, not moving side to side, it almost feels as if you're not moving at all. It's only when you look down and see the small buildings on the ground gradually growing larger that you acknowledge that you're hurtling well past the speed limit back towards Earth. But look straight ahead, see the cluster of clouds in the distance and the vast, empty blue beyond it.
One by one, we land. Ludacris bounces back skyward just as quickly as he hits the ground, so amped is he by the experience. "I'm ready to go back up again," he exclaims, "Ain't no other rapper gonna do that."
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